


Rosewater

by Turtle_ier



Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [10]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Coffee Shops, Comedy, Euphemisms, Eventual Romance, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, No Smut, Sexual Humor, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: With coffee, libraries and awkward conversations, Sapnap's life at university changes as soon as someone says the simple words; "He's into you, you know."Now if only he knew what to do with the information.(Coffee shop/university AU)
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875367
Comments: 4
Kudos: 209





	Rosewater

The bookshop cafe smelt so strongly of rose and camomile that it made Sapnap’s eyes water. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, and they were not scents that he’d ever choose himself. But he needed to get the reading done for tomorrow, and staying in the apartment wasn't an option considering how it stunk of his roommate’s smoke and thudded with the speakers upstairs. So outdoors he went, wearing the dumb waxed canvas jacket his grandmother had bought him before moving to England, and the shoes that clicked on the cobbles, making him feel fancier than he really was.

He still had the beanie, and the off-white t-shirt which was definitely white at some point, so he wasn't fancy. Maybe as fancy as any foreign exchange student could be, but not  _ fancy _ -fancy. Some people just took it too far. 

He had eight hours, sixteen minutes and thirty-five seconds before the discussion board post was due to be posted online, and with the thin, almost-new copy of  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ burning a hole in his breast pocket, he waited for the idiot in front of him to actually make up her mind and buy the damn drink already.  _ Just get coffee _ , he thought about snapping _ , it’s what you always get, and whenever you get something new it’s disappointing _ . 

But she was humming at the board. The barista caught his eye and Sapnap could only shrug at him, and the other man smiled slightly, almost knowingly, as she finally rattled off the order she wanted. Coffee, black, one sugar. 

“Alright,” the dude behind the counter chirped when she had paid for it, “I’ll bring it over to your table in a few minutes. Thanks!” 

Sapnap watched the woman go, and as the barista handed the order over to the other person behind the counter, a blonde man who was at least a few inches taller, before they made eye contact. 

“What can I get you?” he asked, and Sapnap made a show of looking cool, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and knowing his order off by heart. 

“Just a latte, please. A large one.” 

“Alright,” he said, and Sapnap caught a glance of his name tag. 

“Wait, you’re on my course,” Sapnap said, and the barista stopped, “George, right?”

“Oh,” George said, holding in a giggle, “I know you. Yeah.” 

And you know, sometimes you just can't question things, so Sapnap ignored the giggle, paid with a polite smile, and went to find a seat. 

It seemed George worked there immediately after their shared Victorian literature seminar too, since it was Tuesday and he was behind the counter again. 

Outside was a dreary, false grey. Dreary because of not-rain not-cloudy weather they were having which still managed to soak Sapnap’s hair, and false on account of how it wasn't actually daylight outside, despite it being only three in the afternoon. England had a habit of doing that, it seemed – ending the day when it felt like it, consequences be damned.

He sniffled. The hefty copy of ‘War and Peace’ was dragging his arm down, but he refused to carry it with two. What kind of person carries a single book with two hands? 

Something still smelt strong in the cafe, but it didn't seem to be camomile this time, but rather the same rose mixed with something else. Not any better, but at least not worse. 

“Oh, hey” George said this time instead of giving him the usual customer greeting, and something in Sapnap felt glad for it.

“Hey man,” he said as well, hoping the friendliness was a way of getting on George’s good side. He needed the notes from the week before, after all, even if he didn't want to tell George that just yet. 

“What can I get for you?” George asked, picking up the notepad to take note. 

The other person wasn't behind the counter that day, but considering how it was as close to closing and how few people were there already, he wasn't entirely surprised. He looked up at the mish-mash of funky drink choices on the blackboard behind George, at the caramel foams and six different coffee bean blends, and gave his order clearly after coming to a decision. 

“A latte, please.”

“And your size?”

“Large.”

George seemed to smile as if Sapnap had said something funny, but he didn't look up as he wrote down the order. The streetlights came on outside with a flicker, and while inside the cafe was better lit than outside, the amber rays still came through the windows and cast onto the ceiling. Someone in the bookshop downstairs dropped something and it thudded loud enough for them to both hear it. 

“I’ll bring it over to you in a minute, okay?” George said, putting the cup beneath the machine after Sapnap had paid, “It should only be a minute or so.”

“Alright,” Sapnap said and put his wallet away, “Thanks.”

He wandered over to the table nearest the window, one where the old people usually sat and stayed for hours on end, and Sapnap wasn't used to seeing the street from above like that, especially since he was usually one of the people that usually walked past. He’d often felt other people's eyes on him as he went, but it was nice to be in the other seat for a change, even if it meant he got cold from the draft. Pros and cons, and all that. 

“Here you are,” George said, putting the latte onto the table, and just as he went to walk away Sapnap spoke up.

“Oh, George?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Can I ask you for something?”

The other man seemed to pause as if Sapnap had asked him to do something monumental, or as if he was about to tell him something of utmost importance, and George turned back around to look at him. He seemed eager to hear what Sapnap had to say.

“What’s up?”

“Can I have your notes from last week? From the Edwardian literature module?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah,” George stuttered, almost as if he wasn't expecting something like that, “For ‘ _ Hound of the Baskervilles’ _ ?”

“Uh-huh,” Sapnap smiled, and George hesitantly gave one back. 

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you a copy in our next class, yeah? I don't have them with me now.”

“That’s cool, just, yeah. I’d appreciate it.” 

The cafe still smelt of rose even when the café was recovering from a busy morning, but like with most places in this backwards country, the cafe closed early on Sundays. This cafe, along with the independent bookshop it was attached to, was different in the fact that it stayed open for an extra hour yet avoided the government’s ire by opening a hour or so later. Or something. Sapnap wasn't overly familiar with the out-of-date shopping habits people kept in this damn country, anyway, and it only affected him when he tried to go to that stationary shop (H&M? M&S? B&M? B&Q? W&H? One of them. Jeez, abbreviations everywhere on the Highstreet) and it was closed early. 

“And I said to him, ‘I don't have that kind of time’, and he was like, ‘well make some’.”

George didn't seem to mind that Sapnap was having a bad day. If anything, he seemed pleased to have someone in there with him as he shut the cafe down. 

“Hate to interrupt, but do you want a coffee before I shut the machine off?”

Sapnap snapped his mouth shut, blinking as if he had just woken up, and he sort of had, since the rant about the weekly essays existed like a distant dream (or really, nightmare) in his head from all of the different events which had happened in the day. 

“Oh, oh yeah, please. Wait, hang on,” he got his wallet out and cursed, “I probably shouldn't. Caffeine, money, you know.”

“You sure? Well,” George looked around the cafe and into the rest of the bookshop, “If my manager isn't around I can sneak one into a takeaway cup for you. I’ll make myself one so it’s less suspicious?” 

“Dude, no, you don't have to do that for me. I don't want you getting in trouble.” 

“Sapnap.”

George said it and Sapnap fell silent. After a moment, George raised an eyebrow at him and went to work making two drinks. For one, he put it beneath the coffee machine and pushed the button for hot water, and for the other he tore open a packet of tea and put the bag into the cup, with the tag dangling out over the side. ‘Green,’ it read. 

“It’s only 500 words though, right? The discussion board post,” George said as he pulled the milk from the fridge, bending at the waist and letting Sapnap see his legs fully without intending to, “And you've read the book, haven’t you?”

“Of course I’ve read the book, I want to do my essay on it.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

Sapnap huffed, acting insulted even if he wasn't really. “You know that gross feeling when you submit an essay?” 

“Like anxiety, you mean?”

Sapnap nodded, and George grimaced as he put the milk into the jug to steam it. He didn't continue to talk as he steamed the milk, and Sapnap wouldn't have been able to hear him over the roar of it if George had, but when he pulled the hot milk from the mechanism and wiped down the frothier, he continued. 

“Do you get it every week, then?”

“I know the discussion board things aren’t as necessary, or, well, they are. They’re worth ten percent which isn’t loads, but ten percent is still ten percent, you know?”

“I get you,” George poured the milk into the takeaway up which he had put the coffee into, and after putting the lid on he slid it over the counter to Sapnap. But before Sapnap could thank George for it and excuse himself so the other man could actually get on with closing, George spoke up again. His lips moved in the same way a fish out of water would, like he was breathing around each word. There was something equally unsettling and enticing about it. Like George was going to threaten him or try and pull him into a situation he might not like. Or something more innocent, but he couldn’t help and think of the worst. 

“You get a day off each week, right?”

“Yeah? I do.”

“What day?”

“Mondays,” Sapnap said, and George bit his lip.

“Do you want to do some work together or something at some point? Like… at mine or– or at the library if you want?” 

It was Sapnap’s turn to pause for a second, and George shifted. 

“Yeah, alright. We can if you’re up for it. What’s the best way for me to contact you?” 

“Do you want my number?”

“Sure.”

He hadn't messaged George. 

He also hadn't given his own number to George, which meant Sapnap was stuck in the horrible forever-loop of ‘I should text him’ and ‘I’m too nervous to text him’. 

Time to be a coward, he guessed, and didn't go to the seminar they shared. Too bad history had a habit of catching up to him. 

Unknown Number

**Sapnap, I hope you don't mind but my friend Dream gave me your number.**

**Sorry you weren’t in the seminar, but do you still want the notes?**

**I hope you’re ok :(**

Sapnap was a coward, but at least he wasn't cowardly enough to leave George hanging. 

“Sorry,” was the first thing he said, and followed it with, “I thought George was working today?”

The guy behind the counter, apparently the ‘Dream’ he did a project with in first year and had given his number to, shrugged. On his phone, ‘Dream’ was written as Clay, but nicknames sometimes stood up higher than actual names. Sapnap would, unfortunately, know. 

“Yeah,” he said, “George took the day off to do something after his class. Not sure what, but you know.” 

“Is he in tomorrow?”

“Not sure. You have his number, right? Why don't you just text him?” 

Dream then put the metal jug of milk beneath the steamer and turned it on, so that the noise was too loud for him to hear Sapnap even if the other man did talk, but after a minute or so of Dream passive-aggressively frothing the milk, he put the jug down and turned to him. 

“George is into you.”

“Huh?”

“He’s into you. I feel like a dick saying it for him, but yeah. He’s into you.”

“You’re lying,” Sapnap told him, “Can I get a latte?” 

“What size did you want that? Also, I’m not lying.” 

“Large, and to take away, please. Why would George be into me? I’ve literally talked to him like… maybe five times.” 

“Eight, but yeah.”

“When? Since you know so much about me, apparently.”

“You asked him what day it was that one time.”

“No, I didn't.”

“He told me about it for, like, twenty minutes immediately after the lesson when it happened.” 

Dream put the grounds into the portafilter and stamped it down, putting it beneath the mechanism which put out the hot water, and he turned it on so that the sweet, sweet black gold came out of the machine and into the take away cup. It was one left over from Christmas, with a funny looking snowman painted onto the side which smiled in a way that made it seem evil, on account of the corrugated cardboard corrupting its smile. Dream helped ease the frothed milk into the cup, swirling it in a way George never did, and as he put the lid on he totally crushed it, rendering the pattern unrecognisable. Dream handed the coffee over before tallying up his total. 

“Text him,” Dream said, and then, “That’s two-fifty, please.”

Sapnap didn't even realise that Dream was American too until he was halfway home, drinking from the cup of evil snowmen and wishing, not for the first time, that his caffeine addition wasn't so crippling. 

Contact: Sapnap

_ George? _

**Yeah?**

_ Want to go to the library on Thursday? Maybe at like 6-ish? _

**Would you be into that?**

Library, three nights later; his caffeine addiction continued to break his knees and call him a slave as he stood outside, another out-of-date book under his arm and shivering in the February cold. Fog, thick as mud, hung in the air like a ghost that didn't want to be forgotten, and this was going to be the first time Sapnap saw and remembered George outside of the coffee shop. It would have closed around twenty minutes ago, by his estimation, and it didn't stay open for the later shopping hours the city kept on Thursdays. The bookshop would be open, but the cafe was not.

Water was wet. Birds flew. England continued to make no damn sense.

But before Sapnap could shift into his second-gear shivering, like a phantom from the darkness, George appeared from the fog in a smart looking coat and shoes, as if he was going to a war of words instead of his not-date-but-also-who-knows with Sapnap. He had two more take away cups, both with the demented looking snowmen on them, and he had a scarf wrapped around his face. 

When he was close enough for Sapnap to say hello, George didn't waste any time in putting the full cup of coffee on top of Sapnap’s already half-drunk one and then took a step back, letting the other man keep up a balancing act. George and Sapnap just looked at one another before he broke the silence.

“Hi,” George said.

“Hello.”

“Should we go in?”

“Only if you don't mind holding the door. I don't know if I can do much of anything with, well.” Sapnap tilted his head to the two cups of coffee which he kept in one hand. His other hand was still too full of books to hold the other one separately, and George smirked as he almost lost balance. 

“That’s fine by me.” 

So they went, one after the other, into the half empty library. Really it was less than half empty. Most people made their leave with the sunset, and since the essay and exam season in January had already passed, there were plenty of seats on whichever floor they would end up choosing. But George guided them over to the elevators anyway, and based on the dark circles under the other man’s eyes, Sapnap could only assume it was on account of a long day at work. The stairs were not a lot of effort, but any effort was still effort. 

“Second floor?” Sapnap asked. 

“I was going to go third, but sure.”

“Third is the silent floor, isn't it?”

“Only half of it… not that it means anything to the people who go in there, to be fair.” 

Sapnap chuckled, and as the door opened to the second floor, he let George guide him once again over to the desktop computers on the left side of the building, the side which faced the train tracks but at least didn't have a view directly into the science building opposite.

The library was an old dry dock, technically, before the university got a hold of the land around the lake (or pool, as most people called it. It wasn't really big enough to be a lake) and made the water source smaller. The library was one of the buildings on the land, and while it could have really done with being knocked down, the university kept it standing after protests from the locals kept it going. Everything in England seemed as old as time itself, which was a dumb mentality to take when so often the buildings reality could do with being torn down, and yet, the counsel insists it remains standing. The ceiling of the library (or rather, that section of it) had high ceilings with beams running across it to every corner. It stretched out before them as George chose a pair of computers near to a window, but far enough away from the entrance to the floor that they wouldn't be disturbed. It was quiet. 

“Here alright with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cool.” 

George dumped his bag on the floor before pulling off his coat and scarf, and Sapnap took great pleasure in actually being able to put the two cups down, even if the fuller one on top did spill slightly onto his hand when he did. He pulled the coffee-stained thumb into his mouth and licked it, pretending not to notice how George was looking at him.

“What are you working on?” Sapnap asked when he sat down. 

“The essay for Modernism. You?”

“Uhm,” he said, “maybe the discussion board thing for next week, but I’ve got a couple of personal projects, too.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

George wasn't looking at him, too busy filling in his email and password for the computer, but Sapnap watched him and swung back and forth in his chair. Sapnap answered the question reluctantly. 

“I'm thinking about doing a masters. One for creative writing, but I need to do a portfolio.”

“Cool, so are you going to make a few things?”

“I, uh,” he paused, stuttered, and George’s gaze flickered over to him. He forced himself to continue, “I’ve got… technically, I mean, I guess it's a book, or novel, but it’s a work in progress and I was going to submit the first three chapters. If they’re chapters, they might just be… scenes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

George was smiling. “Nothing,” he said, turning away again, back to his computer. What was so interesting on a computer screen, anyway? George spoke up again, “If you want me to proofread it or anything, let me know, okay?”

“I kind of need to do my own editing first, I think.” 

“That’s fair. You far through?”

“A bit.”

“Can I ask how many words?”

“Around… do you really care?”

George looked back, which suited Sapnap just fine, “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m not about to scoff in your face about it or anything. I’d be into seeing it, if you want to show me.”

Sapnap blinked. He couldn't tell if it was the terrible lighting or the horrible heating in the old building, but if he didn't know any better he’d call George flushed at his own words. 

George was blushing. Properly, actually, blushing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I– I didn't mean to say that.” 

Sapnap’s brain had a blue screen inside it. The coffee had worn off about two hours ago and it was only a mixture of George’s rambling and ranting about his essay and the terrible lighting in the library keeping him awake. But now there was something else causing his brain to brick. 

“No, I haven't seen it,” Sapnap said, and as he said it he felt as if he was existing in a distant dream, “and who did you say did that?”

“Not me,” George made sure to say quickly, “No, I saw it on… you know those, like, anonymous confession boards run by students at the uni?”

“Uh-huh?”

He had, and they were usually filled with some of the most wild and vile stories out there. People swimming in the gross pool on the university campus, others suction cupping ‘toys’ to the glass parts of the bridge over the railway, and general commentary about housemates, lecturers and the like. Sapnap had seen it, put in a couple of his own anonymous confessions, and never saw them posted. Unlike the person sitting next to him, he didn't regularly follow it along. 

“Yeah. Just… I saw something about it. Never mind, if you didn't see it it’s not funny.”

“And they just… did it here?”

“not– not  _ here _ -here. Just in the library. It might have been the bathrooms or something, I don't know.” 

Sapnap felt the wait cursor spinning in his head, seeing it go around and around, before his thoughts finally aligned and loaded. “Wait,” he said after George had turned back to the BuzzFeed quiz he was doing, “you’re not–”

“No! It wasn't me.”

“I’m not saying it is! I’m saying, well, you want to?”

George didn't say anything. The quiz told him he should have burritos for dinner. 

“Sapnap,” he said.

“George,” he said. 

George looked at him. In the spinning chair, Sapnap faced him and spread his legs. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

The blush was back, and Sapnap laughed a little too loudly in the 11pm quietness of the library.

“Maccies is open.”

“Please don't tell me you call it that unironically.” 

George shrugged but didn't turn away from the charging phone, scrolling through the Just Eat app, and Sapnap paid equal attention to the Deliveroo app on his own phone. There was still a Chinese open on Sincil bank, but it had a one-star hygiene rating. Were £3.40 spring rolls really worth the risk? 

“Burger king?”

“Nah. Is KFC open?”

“Do you want the wallpaper paste gravy?”

“Yeah.”

“Disgusting. I don't think it is.”

“This place has mojitos,” Sapnap turned his phone to George so that he could look, but at the sight of the price he pulled a face and turned back to his own app. 

“That’s too much. Also, I don't drink.”

“That’s fair. I only do it when I’m happy.”

“Are you sober now?”

“Yeah, which is why I suggested changing it.”

“And also I like the way you promised that,” George said, ‘I only do it when I’m happy’. It’s good to know.”

“Are you suggesting something?”

“About you? Always.” 

“So what’s it about?” George asked him as they hid their Nando’s underneath the desk. 

No one was near to them, but the library’s ‘no hot food’ rule was one George was too anxious to break, and even though Sapnap had felt pretty fancy earlier waiting out in the fog with his coffee, nice coat and cool shoes, he felt utterly unhinged and unbothered at that very moment. Legs out before him, wrappers all over the desk and keyboard, and his hair no doubt a mess from the number of times he had carded his hands through it. A cheeky Nando’s, it seemed, was the only good British food, even if it technically wasn't British. It drove him to the edge and simultaneously pulled him away from it. At 2am, it was the wildest thing he had eaten, possibly ever. That might have been an exaggeration, but he felt it in his soul.

“What?” Sapnap asked around his chicken wrap. He should really eat slower, but you know. Early morning food didn't just wait around for you to eat it. Based on the state of the chicken burger George was manhandling, it tended to have a mind of its own. Maybe it was still alive under all those spices. Maybe Sapnap should have gone to bed instead of ordering food. Whatever. 

“You story thing. Novel. What is it about?”

“Something,” Sapnap said, hoping George would just accept the answer and not question him further, but George wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I think it’s best to go into blind to it,” Sapnap said, swivelling in his chair so that he could click around on the screen a bit more. The crossword wasn't going to itself, even if Sapnap couldn't do it either. 

“How will you tell your publisher that?”

“My publisher?”

“Your future one. Whatever.” 

Sapnap shrugged, picking at a piece of lettuce. 

“I guess I’ll figure it out once I get to that point. It’s early days, yet. I don't want to rush into it.”

“I keep thinking about that post now,” Sapnap told him, sitting in the most incorrect way possible as George threw the rest of his flat coke out the window. Feeding the birds. The midnight birds. Owls? 

He closed it again and clicked the latch back into place, turning back to Sapnap and his computer, looking between them as he smashed the keyboard and tried to finish up his essay. 

“What post?”

“The one we talked about earlier?”

“Ah.”

George wasn't looking at him, and Sapnap couldn't help but grin. The 3am tiredness was slowly but surely turning into silliness, and he could feel himself warm at the sight of George’s blush as well, which didn't bode well. Sapnap knew that his version of silliness was a dangerous, uncharted thing, and while he didn't want to subject George to it, least of all the library and its skeleton crew, he couldn't help it. He wasn’t going to regret it, he decided. 

The blush on the other man’s face deepened as he caught sight of Sapnap looking at him, and with a displeased, indignant, or embarrassed frown he focused harder on the screen. 

“Stop looking at me.” 

“Why?”

“Sapnap,” George still didn't look at him, and he seemed to hesitate. Before Sapnap could ask why, though, he continued, “If I didn't know any better, I would say you’re flirting with me.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied automatically. 

“Are you?”

“Maybe. Do you want me to?”

George’s eyes were red from how tired he was, and while they had both technically finished what they had set out to do, Sapnap couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed at the idea of going home alone. It was cold, dreary and generally unpleasant outside, and with good company and a warm atmosphere, Sapnap felt… something.

It was like holding a warm cup of coffee after coming in from the rain, like kissing your pet on the head and like someone getting you a gift when you were not expecting it. Sapnap wanted to show gratitude, appreciation,  _ something _ , and George just looked at him, wearing his scarf after he claimed to be cold (“I’d warm you up, if you asked”), before he smiled. 

“Stay there,” Sapnap said quietly, and got on his knees.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m inspired by the thing you mentioned. Sit back.”

“Someone will see,  _ Sapnap– _ “

Maybe he shouldn't have, and maybe he should, but either way Sapnap ended the night with more than just his portfolio done. 

Three weeks later, two days before he had to submit his application to do a masters, and George was laying back on his bed like Dionysus himself; at ease, in power, and ready to call for Sapnap should he wish.

It was dark outside, sleeting, and his bedroom felt warm. The radiator behind his desk made his feet a little too hot, but everything else was too perfect that Sapnap didn't bother to lean down and change it, even if George would have appreciated the view. 

He was writing by hand, his back to George, and his laptop open in front of him. His cup of coffee was empty, even if the room still smelt of it and not a lot else, but he could still sense a few others. There was something comforting about smells you recognised, that meant certain things, and for Sapnap there was a neat little list; coffee, the old-book smell in the library, and whatever George used to wash his clothes – something rosy, maybe. But then movement came from behind him, and while Sapnap’s head twitched in the direction, he didn't take his eyes off the page until George came up behind him, standing. 

“I’ve finished it,” George said, leaning his head on Sapnap’s shoulder.

Sapnap’s head twitched to the side slightly as George’s hair brushed his ear, and he chuckled gently as he put his hand up to card through his hair, turning to look at as much as he could see. The work he was doing was thoroughly, undoubtedly, forgotten. 

“Yeah?” Sapnap said, not standing but letting George wrap his arms around him. George nodded. “What do you think?”

“I liked it,” George said, pulling his face out of Sapnap’s neck and resting his chin on the man’s head instead. He didn't open his eyes, but still had the big wad of papers which made up Sapnap’s manuscript in one hand, and Sapnap could recognise the green penmanship which reminded him that his own work wasn't done. 

“That’s good,” Sapnap said, clicking around on the screen before him to save and close the document, “but I can see you’ve made some edits?”

“There’s always going to be some edits.” 

“I know, but,” Sapnap reached to pull the papers away from George, and putting them on the desk, he held his hands, “tell me?”

“I will,” George pressed his lips to Sapnap’s ear, mumbling, “after you make me a coffee.” 

“It’s my turn, is it?”

“It’s about time, don’t you think?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This work was in WIP hell for a few weeks and I managed to enter a dissociative mind state this afternoon and write 3k for it. So that's neat, I guess. If it doesn't make sense or is otherwise a bit lame, sorry, but that's probably why lol.
> 
> Comments/kudos/bookmarks are my bread and butter, and they really make my day :)
> 
> I dont support the shipping of real life people, which is why this piece is set in an AU based more so on their personas rather than them as irl people. As far as I'm currently aware, George and Sapnap are fine with fanfiction being written about them at this time, but if shipping content is considered incorrect by the creators in the future, or just fanfiction at all, this work will be deleted. The last thing I want to do is offend them or make them uncomfortable.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @turtle-ier  
> Find me on Twitter: @Turtle_ier


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